


might become my lover, for real

by evamohns



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, a lot of lana del rey, festival au???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 12:22:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11805930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evamohns/pseuds/evamohns
Summary: It’s Even who finally does it, hooks his finger around Isak’s before turning his hand over and nudging at Isak’s palm with his until they’re holding hands, Isak flexes his fingers in the grasp – still looking at the floor.





	might become my lover, for real

Isak is in Denmark, stood in the grounds of a festival and using a plastic fork that he and Magnus have been swapping between them to dig at a kebab. It’s not the best thing in the world, Isak’s pretty sure it’s got _watercress_ in it which: gross. He feels hazy from the heat, light headed from the beer they’ve been steadily consuming all day and the joint he had shared with Jonas while listening to a noisy, feel-the-bass-in-your-feet band from America. They’re making their way to the main stage, planning to linger at the back to drink some more and lounge together on the grass.

Isak’s feet hurt so much and he’s only stopped bitching about them because Mahdi started calling him a “drama queen.” Isak had been too slow to reply and has been mulling over an opportunity to get Mahdi back since they reunited an hour ago. He stumbles over upturned grass and knocks shoulders with Magnus, he’s tempted to rest his head on Mags’ shoulder – he’s that desperate.

They drop their rubbish in an already full bin, Magnus throws a helpful arm around Isak’s shoulders, pulls him in close and starts talking about how nice it’ll be when it gets dark and the stars are out. Magnus is a romantic, Isak huffs against his chest and rolls his eyes when Magnus gives him a snippet rendition of Lana Del Rey’s _Ride –_ it’s her they’re seeing tonight and Isak’s heart is already swelling at the thought.

She reminds him of Eva – all burnt oranges and deep reds. Of Jonas too, when they’re smoking and the laughs hurt and Isak feels at home _._ The sad songs remind him of Noora, God, he might cry tonight. He’s become overly sentimental in second year – can’t listen to a song without reminiscing – his memories in a slideshow, set to the beat of music, already nostalgic when he’s got a year of his friends left. It’s good for him, though, to remember that instead of everything else.

Isak can romanticise his life if he wants to, no one can tell him it’s unhealthy if he doesn’t tell them. The music’s an escape of nostalgia and sometimes fantasy – he imagines boys and love like he knows how to deal with it.

He indulges Magnus with a giggle, which prompts him to squeeze his arm tighter. They’ve made their way to the left side of the stage, where the steady incline allows a comfortable resting place and a view at the same time.

“Isak!” Jonas shouts and Isak blushes, the groups around them look up sharply at the voice disrupting their conversations, Jonas rolls his eyes at him from his place ahead of Isak and Magnus – chastising Isak for his shyness. “Will you get me a lemon one?” He’s gesturing to an ice-lolly stand pushed against the faraway fences, a path of a considerable amount of people to step over blocking the way.

He curses Jonas for not giving him a choice, he knows Isak won’t shout back from a distance, too paranoid about the people around him. Magnus pulls his arm back after a slap between Isak’s shoulder blades, mumbles a quick “You’re on your own, bro,” before jogging over to where Jonas and Mahdi are settling – he hurdles people’s legs on the way which causes Isak to experience a heavy dose of second hand embarrassment.

He can tell his brows are furrowed in a strop, arms dangling uselessly at his sides as he stares at the boys dumbfounded, they laugh at him when a handsome and extremely polite boy presses against Isak’s lower back to get past. His smile is so nice that Isak _almost_ swoons, he’s charming in that raffish way with his cropped hair and sincere eyes. The girl he’s with isn’t so nice, she knocks her shoulder with Isak’s to get past, shoves the boy and mutters “Come on, Elias, Jamilla is waiting by the stage,” to which Elias responds with puffed out cheeks and widened eyes as he scratches the back of his head offers Isak a “Sisters, huh?” before pressing on after her.

Isak is a little lost after the encounter, has a look around to find his bearings again and see’s Magnus’ phone lit up, clearly filming it. He flips off the camera and starts walking to the ice-lolly stand, letting out the occasional “sorry” and “excuse me” when the scattered groups of people get denser.

He pays for Jonas’ and his own lolly easily, scrapes together the loose change in his pocket and exchanges it for one lemon and one coconut flavour. He spins around after he’s got one clutched in each fist, tight smile on his face as he’d tried to out-customer-service-voice the vendor despite being the consumer this time around – his job at the restaurant alongside Noora is really getting to him. He’s licking lemon juice as it dribbles down over his fist onto his forearm – a bit gross as it tastes more salty (thanks, heatwave) than sour when his elbow (not the one manoeuvred awkwardly in the air so he can get to the offending lemon juice) is gently caressed by the large hand –

“Him?” A voice asks, too much on the condescending side for Isak, a high-pitch squeal emits from the speakers thanks to soundcheck at the same time and he winces. He cautiously lowers his raised elbow, clamps his mouth shut when he realises it’s still slightly agape, tongue against his bottom lip. The girl, _woman_ Isak should say she’s got that mature air about her and extremely white teeth.

“Yes.” The boy attached to his elbow says, “Him.” Then the hands gliding smoothly from his elbow to rest against his lower back – a searing hot presence that hits Isak even harder when he looks to his left.

The boy is painfully attractive, hair wilting down in the heat, he turns to look at Isak (who had just taken a gulp that seemed extremely loud from Isak’s perspective and can feel both ice-lolly’s melting in each of his hands.) He looks fond, eyes hooded with pseudo-infatuation as Isak’s brain slowly ticks into action. There’s an underlying urgency in the boy’s gaze when their eyes meet, obscured by Isak’s bleached blond by the sun fringe that’s falling into his eyes despite his snapback. Isak gives a miniscule nod, almost undetectable but the boy becomes brash with confidence, hand moving from timidly hovering against his billowing t-shirt to gripping territorially at his hipbone his thumb digs into where it juts out because of Isak’s poor diet.

He grins, Isak blinks. “Sonja,” he’s glowing now – probably himself now that Isak’s agreed to play along in whatever they’re doing. “This is my boyfriend.”

Isak schools his expression, probably ends up looking completely disinterested instead of neutral. He moves to extend his hand but the coconut ice-lolly is in the way, the boy reaches out to take it. They fumble, fingers tangled and dancing around each other as Isak tries not to freak out at 1) the physical contact and 2) how firm the awaiting handshake should be. The boy next to him huffs out a laugh when he finally gets a good grip on Isak’s ice-lolly, runs a thumb over Isak’s hipbone ( _Sonja_ follows the movement) and says a soft, quiet and kind “Thanks, baby,” as Isak extends his sticky hand after wiping it pathetically on his jeans.  

“Isak,” he about whimpers at the pet name as he tries to maintain his niceties with Sonja all the while. He’s never been called _baby_ despite his affinity for it (see: his attendance at this festival was mainly due to the promise of good weed and Lana Del Rey – who seems to share Isak’s sentiment on the word.) The handshake is firm, she’s beautiful and is wearing a maxi dress alternatively known as the most intimidating article of clothing known to man it says _I’ve got my shit together_ and _I’m cool enough to wear this casually rather than at a wedding_ simultaneously and Isak wants to die.

As soon as she drops his hand she turns her gaze to the boy, chin jutted out as she looks up at him, “He looks young, Even.”

“He’s right here.” Even says, casts a quick look sideways as if he’s bothered what Isak thinks of the comment – Isak is impartial to literally everything but the large, possessive hand on his hip and if _Even_ thinks he’s going to walk from the situation now he’s kidding himself. Isak would probably do anything he told him to. “What does it matter that he’s a little younger than us?”

“He can’t be responsible,” She replies, Isak hates her a little bit, he leans into Even’s side and takes a lick of Jonas’ ice-lolly to try and calm himself down and compose himself. “What year are you?”

“I –“ Isak looks to Even, put off by the direct question and the intensity of Sonja’s gaze. Even nods, a tight and private smile on his lips that makes Isak bashful, he looks down at his feet before looking up at Sonja from under his eyelashes. He feels young, naive, stupidly coerced into pretending to be dating a boy he’s probably made up in his fantasies before. “I – uh, ’99.”

“Seventeen!” She exclaims, claps her hands together like the worst kind of primary teacher trying to reassure Isak that his presentation was good and not a mess thanks to his infuriating stutter. Isak scans the crowd for the boys, only sees the back of their heads and the embers of Jonas’ cigarette. “He’s not mature enough for you, Even, you know why, he won’t be able to deal with it.”

Even’s agitated now, clearly, his face has fallen blank and his jaws ticking and his knuckles are white around where he’s holding onto Isak’s ice-lolly. “It doesn’t fucking matter, Sonja.” He spits but his expression doesn’t change. “You don’t have to deal with ‘it’” he throws his hands up into air quotes, Isak misses the warmth of Even’s hand on his body, “So, leave us alone.”

Then he’s grabbing Isak’s free hand and pulling them past her, eyes set ahead as Isak dumbly looks back at her and then at the side of his face. They stop when Even considers them far away enough and Isak watches Sonja take out her phone and head out into the crowd, neck craning to presumably look for her friends.

His hand is still in Even’s.

“Look,” He says when Isak turns to face him, “I’m so sorry.” He’s so sincere that Isak can feel his features going soft.

“Uh,” He replies, shakes his head. Words are getting stuck in his throat, he coughs to buy himself some time, his chest rattles thanks to all the smoking and he would thump at it out of habit but he doesn’t want to let go of Even, “It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t.” He replies, ducks down to search for eye contact that Isak is so reluctant to give to anyone. “I just pulled you, a stranger, into a domestic with my ex and allowed her to insult you.” He runs his thumb over the back of Isak’s hand which, weird, considering Sonja (now Isak’s least favourite name) was long gone.

Isak huffs, “It’s not like I actually could be offended by it though?” He shrugs, “Considering, y’know, you’re not really my boyfriend.” The _It would be nice, though_ Isak tags on in his head makes his eye twitch.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Even is dropping his hand now, as if realising prolonged intimacy between strangers is generally not the norm. “It was kind of shitty of her though.”

“Yeah, well,” Isak lifts his hand to absentmindedly lick at the melted ice-lolly running over his thumb. Even follows the movement, Isak realises how close together they are when he sees Even snap himself out of it by hurriedly blinking, eyelashes casting shadows against his cheek. The sun is setting and casting a vibrant orange light across the crowd. Isak is quieter now, the moment seems secret, “I’ll never see her again, so.”

“Yeah,” and for some reason Even seems out of breath –maybe they walked quicker than Isak thought to get away from her? He turns back to where they came from and starts walking, drags his heels to prolong the process, he’s conscious of the time and doesn’t want to miss the start to the headliner but he also doesn’t want to stop talking to Even either.

“I can’t believe she’s here, I completely forgot she had moved.” Even adds, reaches up to wipe a hand across his face as if he’s recovering from shock – maybe he is, it was a hostile encounter.

“That’s good for you, though,” Isak offers, uncharacteristically gives Even’s shoulder a friendly nudge to try and comfort him, “Getting over it.”

“Yeah,” He responds, Isak can feel his eyes on him as he sucks at the top of the ice-lolly, bites off a bit and licks his lips to stop them from getting sticky, “I think I’m over it,” He stops, Jonas and the boys are still about 50 metres away, “Now.” He adds, Isak wasn’t expecting it and the way he’s looking at him is oddly not-faking-it-anymore.

There’s a beat of silence and Isak doesn’t know what to do, what to say, he reaches up to flatten his backwards snapback impossibly further onto his head and looks down at Even’s feet – he’s wearing trainers that are too fancy to be warranted as festival wear in Isak’s books. Even’s still looking at him, fond twinkle in his eye as he squints against the sun.

“Anyway, this is me.” He gestures to a large group, Isak recognises Handsome Elias and his sister among them. “Thanks for helping me out, I’ll see you around.” He extends his hand, Isak doesn’t want to shake it, it feels too clinical. He claps his hand against it instead, pulls back and folds their fingers together,

“It’s alright,” He says before letting go and leaving his fist for Even to bump – it only crosses his mind that he’s being young, overtly boyish and maybe a little immature when Even takes him up on the offer and giggles as he does. It’s not condescending though, not like Sonja, Even hands him his own ice-lolly back and when Isak’s firmly clutching it by the stick he gives Even a curt nod and a “Later,” before turning around to make his way back to his friends.

He spends the journey over to them muttering “Stupid,” repeatedly to himself and being careful not to let the melting ice-lollies drip on anyone’s head. He’s pouting by the time he reaches them, out of self-pity and annoyance, frustrated at himself for not knowing what the fuck to do when faced with a boy he actually likes.

“Bloody hell, Issy, that took a while.” Jonas says as he takes his lolly (which Isak has practically eaten) before throwing a hand over Isak’s chest as Isak sits down and leans back against Jonas’.

“Shut up,” He mumbles, he feels better though, at home again when he feels Jonas’ heartbeat against his back, “Bumped into someone.”

“Who do you know in Denmark?” Magnus squawks, picking his head up from where he’d been lying face down against the grass.

“He was from Oslo.” Isak could tell from his accent, so it wasn’t a lie.

“Ah,” Jonas responds but Isak can tell there’s that deep-set worry in his eyes that has come before every serious question he’s ever asked Isak in his life: why don’t you like being at home? Have your parents split up? How’s living at the kollektivet? How would you feel if I told you I liked boys and girls? Are you working at the restaurant because your dad isn’t supporting you anymore? And now, presumably when they get back home, who was that boy at the festival? “Should be on soon.” He continues, mostly just to Isak, “Ready to see your favourite artist live?”

Isak scoffs, rolls his eyes, digs his elbow into Jonas’ thigh, “She’s not my favourite!”

She is.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Jonas responds but he starts humming _Million Dollar Man_ as if to remind Isak of the time he barged into Isak’s room at the kollektivet and caught him in his boxers and _that_ grey hoodie staring at the ceiling and, like, crying. Isak sits up and turns around to glare at Jonas until he stops before falling back against his chest, Jonas just laughs at him, Mahdi staring at them oblivious before shaking his head and returning to rolling a joint.

She opens with _Love_ and the skies a deep blue and Isak starts crying as soon as the bridge hits and they’ve discarded the lolly sticks and wiped their hands with wet-wipes that Mahdi produced from his backpack and Jonas’ hand is in his hair. Isak wipes brashly at his eyes with his hands, salty tears on his fingers tips, Mahdi doesn’t notice and passes him the joint. When Isak exhales his chest rattles with a watery cough and the echoes of _don’t worry, baby_ last in his head when the crowd roars. Jonas pats his stomach where his hand’s resting and leans in to whisper an “It’s okay, Isak.” As if to ground him, pull him back, his voice sounds shaky and strong at the same time.

Isak pulls himself together after that, jokes with Magnus between songs and joins Mahdi to fetch back beer from one of the stalls at one point. It’s all good, amazing, ethereal, weird experience. He calls Eva so that she can hear _National Anthem,_ Noora’s there too, laughing down the phone at the end as Isak rushes out a “Gotta’ go now, Mags’ bringing more drinks.”

Isak is warm, fuzzy drunk. He’s moved from his place in between Jonas’ legs and is sat alongside him, beer resting between his bent legs as he rests his elbows on his knees with his chin in his palms. He’s crossfaded, kind of, completely at peace and everything’s good and Lana Del Rey’s bringing out Asap Rocky and now they’re all standing up, grabbing at each other and Mahdi is so excited.

The crowd has cramped together, everyone up on their feet in excitement, Isak’s beer sloshing over the rim of the cup and onto the girl’s shirt in front of him. She doesn’t care, of course she doesn’t, fucking Asap Rocky’s on stage.

They’ve all been rapping along in a sloppy rhythm, Jonas clutching Isak’s wrist as not to lose him, bobbing his head along with Isak as they stumble over their almost incoherent English to shout “Truthfully between you and me,” at the sky and, “I’m usually single when it’s hot outside,” to the stage as Isak watches thousands of pixels display someone that the boys talk about almost every day, listen to almost every day. It’s over in a whirlwind, there’s a hand grabbing Isak’s forearm.

“It’s good to see you,” Even shouts, he’s half behind Isak, he can feel Even’s chest so close to his back in the sticky humid heat. Isak has to look up to see Even’s expression, a teasing smirk and a wink meeting him.

“You too, boyfriend.” Isak says – fucking hell, why would he do that? – the crowd shifts back to calm and Isak catches one last glimpse of his lockscreen wave to the crowd before running off the stage.

Even’s face breaks out into a wide, eye-crinkling smile, sharp canines poking out cutely. Isak actually has to close his eyes and bite the inside of his cheek to recover from it. Even’s standing next to him now, hand dangerously close to Isak’s. “I found my baby.” He says, eyes still so bright and smile still so wide. The worst thing is that Isak knows the reference, because Jonas is always listening to songs by people like _The Gap Band_ and calling it real music while putting too much butter on the toast they make when they’re high.

He rolls his eyes, fondly, tilts his head as he does.

Still, it makes Isak a little weak, he goes all pliant and mouldable and his body is screaming at him to shift his hand to the left and hook his little finger around Even’s. Of course, he does this because he’s high and Even is so beautiful and he feels like it’s not just a fantasy anymore. It’s painfully slow, Isak nervously and gently moving until they’re touching, looking down at his feet so he doesn’t see Even’s smile drop.

They stay like that.

It’s Even who finally does it, hooks his finger around Isak’s before turning his hand over and nudging at Isak’s palm with his until they’re holding hands, Isak flexes his fingers in the grasp – still looking at the floor.

“Would it be okay?” Even’s asking, closer now, their arms flush against each other with Even leaning down to Isak’s ear so he doesn’t have to shout. “Would you still like to be with me, for the rest of the night?”

Even looks nervous, sincere, like Elias who Isak notices is standing next to him laughing with his sister as they look equally overwhelmed at the surprise appearance. “I, uhm,” Isak offers, coughs, thumps his chest with his free hand this time (he dropped the dregs of his beer in all the excitement) “Yeah, we can –“ he nods, unsure of himself, worried about looking too eager – it’s only one night. “I’d like that.”

Even looks elated, the final song picks up and it’s _Old Money_ and she must really want Isak dead because his James Dean fantasy is stood right next to him, holding his hand, fucking _wanting_ to be with him after only meeting once. He laughs in disbelief, looks up and shakes his head.

Even is enamoured next to him, lips parted as he watches Isak, leans down to whisper a “That’s you,” calling him pretty along with the song. Jonas is looking at them, Isak sends him a nod, a smile that’s reserved for only him and it’s enough.

The chorus.

He’s so unbelievably _fucked._ He’s known Even for about half an hour all in all and he’s completely gone for him and the musical score really isn’t helping him control his emotions at all. They’re both drunk (Even managed to cling onto his pint in the rush and Isak’s chest fills with pride) and Isak’s high and it’s so great and he’s leaning in to tell Even –

“ _If you send for me,”_ he’s so nervous, maybe his hands are shaking. He’s never kissed a boy, he’s never kissed a boy and he wants to now with this song, with Even. That’s all he says, in Norwegian not English but Even turns his head, nose knocking against the slope of Isak’s and everything seems so still around them despite both of their friends being so close. They’re still holding hands.

Then Even pulls back, Isak’s eyelids are so heavy that the eye contact they maintain is a hazy blur, watery (god, he’s high.) Even downs his beer. There was like three quarters of it left and he just, just downs it, all of it and then drops his cup.

Then he’s kissing Isak, their hands clasped together, his other hand reaching out to hold the back of Isak’s neck. It’s so, so good. Isak whines almost immediately because it’s so fucking new, gasps before Even’s licking at his bottom lip, opening their mouths and tightening the fingers against Isak’s pulse. He might pass out.

The chorus is picking up again and they are kissing, hooking, whatever anyone wants to call it. Isak feels on top of the fucking world. The backing singers join and it’s dreamy, wistful, the humid heat pressing against them, Isak’s hand in Even’s in Denmark.

They pull apart and Isak’s mouth is damp with spit, he’s out of breath, pulling in shallow breaths and he can’t believe that it just happened and that the songs over, the festivals over.

They pull back but stay hand in hand and Jonas is slapping at Isak’s shoulder to tell him that they’re leaving.

Even’s friends, Elias and his sister, are pulling on his t-shirt, “We’ve got to go, Even!” She’s saying but Even is staring at him, at the ratty vans on his feet and the almost ripped through on the left knee jeans and his public enemy t-shirt and the blond hair curling out from under his snapback and at _him._

“I’ll find you again, baby.” Isak would roll his eyes, close his eyes and take in a long, suffering breath but it’s Even – the only boy he’s ever kissed so Isak will let him off. It’s cliché but it’s good, in the Lana Del Rey lyrics about being in love kind of way. Isak doesn’t doubt that he will.

“Yeah,” He says at it feels like it was knocked out of him, the field has emptied a considerable amount and Isak can see the empty plastic pint cups scattered over the floor, crinkling under Even’s feet as he walks backwards to the other exit as Isak’s friends head the opposite way.

“Later!” He shouts, mocking Isak’s attempt at casualness earlier in the evening, mocking his second-year-of-high-school slang with a quirk of his eyebrow. Isak holds his hand up in a reserved, shy wave just before Even turns around and it’s met with a smile, Isak’s cheeks turn a dusty red under the golden strip of sunburn he’d worked up over the weekend. Even would like that, if he could see it.

Yeah, Isak thinks, _later._

**Author's Note:**

> so this was born out of my love for isak loving lana?? like big mood, also its kinda part of fic week, im on twitter @vldelien - hope u liked this!!! also: i'm so sorry for any mistakes/messy grammar it's like 1am and i cba to proofread again but i'll correct it tomorrow


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